


In Monteriggioni

by mitsukai613



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Bottom!ezio, Fluff, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 08:24:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3643380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitsukai613/pseuds/mitsukai613
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Ezio comes to him hurt following his encounter with the Spaniard, Leonardo insists on accompanying his friend to Monteriggioni, plagued the whole way by his thoughts of loving him. Once there, a conversation with La Volpe leads to the realization that perhaps his feelings aren't as unrequited as he thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Monteriggioni

                I found that I was getting distressingly used to finding Ezio standing behind me, having somehow managed to invade my workshop with complete silence. The first few times, I’d actually jumped at the sight of him, which had amused him for, no doubt, days afterwards, but now I was obviously becoming desensitized. I sighed; on this particular day, Ezio was standing in a puddle of water and looking insufferably pleased with himself.

                “Ezio, amico mio, how is it that whenever you come to my workshop you are either bleeding or dripping? Tell me, do you make such an effort for everyone, or am I merely special?” Ezio laughed, sweeping the sopping hood off of his head to bare his grinning visage, eyes twinkling with rare pleasure as he slipped a folded page from within his cloak.

                “The guards do not take too kindly to me stealing these, Leonardo; the canal seemed the best way to escape.” A codex page, obviously; he handed it to me easily, still smiling. I couldn’t help but return it, annoyed though I might have been at my wet floor and the likely ruination of the few sketches I had strewn about on the ground, waiting to be finished. It wasn’t often now that anyone was able to drag even a smile out of him; I hadn’t thought that time would heal his heartache, precisely, but I’d thought it would at least lessen it. As it stood, he was so fixed on avenging his father and his brothers that I could barely manage to catch sight of the person I’d known before. I relished those moments wherein I was able to drag him out again.

                “What happened to that ‘method’ you told me you had the last time you visited me, Ezio?” He chuckled again.

                “I could not find any courtesans.” I let out another sigh, shaking my head as I unfolded the page across my worktable.

                “You’ve been luring them away with _courtesans?_ That is the brilliant method you were so proud of?” He shrugged.

                “It works well enough, amico mio, and they have not complained. If they did, I would not; you know that.” I did, and it hadn’t so much been their willingness that I questioned as the absurdity of it all in the face of what most thought of him. Some men, I knew, looked at Ezio and only saw a murderer who lurked in shadows, waiting for the moment to strike; I heard gossips all over Venezia whisper “assassino, assassino,” over and over, as if speaking the word too loudly would summon him and end their lives.

                I wouldn’t say I knew better; I knew him less than some and more than most, but he did kill. I had seen him do it before, if only once. I knew also that he did not do so without cause, however; I trusted that he’d never killed a person who hadn’t wanted harm to come to him or to someone innocent, someone he cared for. That the great and mighty assassino of Italia would go to such lengths to avoid killing guards, most of whom would take little issue with hanging him, would likely make all of the gossips shriek with confusion.

                “That I do not question. Could you not have dried off a bit before you came here, at least? My sketches will be soaked.” His mouth quirked up in a teasing smirk, the look of it softening the lines of his face and making him actually look his age; my fingers itched for something to draw him with. I always had thought he’d make a fine model, handsome as he was. Surely if I posted a sketch of him upon my door, I’d get far more business from the ladies of the city simply hoping to catch sight of him. I shook my head, turning my focus as best I could to the encrypted codex page before me.

                I ought to have known better than to think such thoughts; it was a betrayal to do so and I knew it. I was one of the few who Ezio trusted, one of the few around whom he felt it safe to lower his guard even slightly. He lived every day with death all around him, the sort of life I could hardly imagine, and I would not… I would not ruin one of his few refuges with my own desires, especially not when I knew well enough what his response would be.

                Not angry, of course, nor even confused; he’d lived enough to know plenty of men who liked the things I liked, and I’d never known him to have any sort of distaste for them. Hell, depending on the day I half-thought he knew about me anyway, and simply never found cause to mention it. I imagined he’d probably refuse me like he had some women who’d propositioned him while he was in my company, lightly and kindly, as if he’d have said yes in a heartbeat had circumstances been so very slightly different.

                “They are strewn across the floor, and most are crumpled like trash. I’d thought you didn’t care anything for them.” I turned, looking at the sketches on the floor more closely for the first time in likely a week. Ah, yes, I’d forgotten; those _were_ trash. I’d despised most of them from the moment I started them, actually, from some misplaced line or another that I simply couldn’t manage to get right.

                “My apologies; you’re quite right. I’d forgotten that I haven’t cleaned the floor in some time. I thought they were more recent, merely awaiting a better place to be tucked away until I found the time to finish them.” I could see how funny he found that by the lightness of his eyes, but he did at least manage to resist laughing at me that time. I turned my gaze back to the codex, finding comfort in the puzzle, however simple. If only they’d put a bit more _challenge_ in them.

                I sighed, finishing the last bit and, though it was translated, still wasn’t sure entirely what it was talking about. Ezio hadn’t granted me that information, at least not yet, although I was confident at some point that he would, especially given that I didn’t even know who had written them. Some assassin before him, I was sure, and certainly a good one, but why Ezio was so determined to get them now, why they said such strange things… well, I would know when he thought it best to tell me, though that answer did little beyond irritating my curiosity. I lifted the page and gave it to him, watching him smile, fold it, and tuck it back in his cloak with the slightest of bows.

                “Thank you, amico mio. Ah, and please don’t be worried if you do not see me for a while. I need to go to Monteriggioni for a time; I have business to finish.” He said that with a finality that worried me, shadows overcoming his face again. When he turned, not waiting for my response, and started walking away from me, I noticed suddenly that he walked like he was hurt.

                I was on my feet in an instant, catching him tightly by the arm. He stopped, arm limp in my hand even though I knew that he could throw me off in a second if he chose, because though I was strong from my work as an engineer, I was no assassin. He’d been trained in strength from the moment of his birth, from what I’d seen, bouncing across rooftops and fleeing guards and getting into fights when normal boys were only just starting apprenticeships. “Leonardo?” he asked me, and I stepped back, pulling him with me. He went with me willingly enough, and I noticed that it was his right leg he favored.

                “You’re hurt,” I said, and he laughed.

                “Only a very little,” he answered, shifting a little, smiling but not looking precisely like he meant it.

                “Ezio, you’re limping, and-,” I caught sight of something let my hand drop from his arm only to snatch up his hand. “Your _finger_ ,” I said, “What in the world happened?” He hissed as my own fingertips traced the deep, bitter burn.

                “It is nothing, Leonardo, please, do not _touch_ it.” I glared at him, annoyed for reasons that I couldn’t explain that he wouldn’t tell me what had happened. Too many secrets where before there had been none; he’d never shied of telling me the origin of his injuries before. The burn looked very purposeful, somehow, like a brand. The thought of Ezio being treated like an animal long ago bought and owned… I gritted my teeth and shook my head.

                “You have come here hurt many times but you do not often play with fire, amico mio. You are acting strangely; come, sit, and let me fetch something to help that heal. I might even be able to keep it from scarring; why don’t you tell me what has happened while you wait?” He jerked his hand away, stepping back, shaking his head, frowning.

                “No, Leonardo. I cannot… it must scar, and I must go. I am expected in Monteriggioni very soon; Mario needs this page.” I pushed him onto my chair, something I’m sure I wouldn’t have managed had he not been so… off-balance.

                “Shut up,” I said, angrier than I should’ve been, more frustrated than I could recall being since Michelangelo’s last unwelcome visit. Ezio gaped, and I realized suddenly that that was the first time he’d ever heard me shout. I took a deep breath and tried to calm down; anger would get me nothing but resistance from him, I knew that. “No, I’m sorry. I’m only a bit… Ezio, you call me friend, but how am I meant to feel when you come here hurt and refuse to tell me what has happened, when you tell me only that you will be ‘gone for a while’ but not where you will be when you inevitably leave Monteriggioni or what you will be doing or if you plan to come back? I thought you dead many times already, Ezio, and I do not like the feeling.” He flinched.

                “Please, Leonardo. I do not want… you are not involved, amico mio. I do not want to involve you.” I lifted the hand with the burned finger again, examining it more closely and realizing something very suddenly.

                “Your father had a scar like this. I remember thinking that it must have hurt terribly when he got it. Tell me, you do know that I will not let you leave until you explain this to me, don’t you?” He actually managed a chuckle, though it sounded tired and faintly terrified.

                “I was beginning to think so. You are too persistent, Leonardo, and too willing to let yourself get hurt.” I tilted my head, still holding the hand, not bothering to respond. “Ah, fine. Only promise me that you will not speak of this to anyone, that you will not involve yourself.”

                “Of course, Ezio.” He swallowed, gazing at the wall behind me with something like worry in his eyes.

                “I went after the Spaniard late yesterday evening; he summoned guards, of course, and I thought that I would die when suddenly my allies were everywhere, slaying guards left and right, urging me on. I had the Spaniard on the ground, yet still he managed to escape. My friends… brought me to a tower, on the other side of the city. They made me an assassin, officially,” he said, holding up the hand. It really was a brand, then, binding him to their order, making him their tool. I made it a point to breathe deeply.

                “And your reason for going to Monteriggioni?” He looked away again, but I took him by the chin and made him look at me. Fire simmered in his eyes, threatening, but of all people, I wasn’t frightened of him. “Tell me, Ezio, you promised it. I am your friend.”

                “The Spaniard wanted something; it had to do with this,” he said, sliding what appeared to be a golden apple from his pocket, the object still in his hand yet oddly… weighty, as though it could be doing much more. “He called it the Apple of Eden; the order thinks it important. Apparently there are other pieces of Eden as well. This piece and the pope’s staff are said to open some sort of vault; the Spaniard wants whatever is in it, just as my uncle and the rest of the order do. I only want to kill the Spaniard, but this seems the best way to do it now that he has run and they are the ones who can discover where he is.” I felt faintly ill.

                “I am coming with you to Monteriggioni, Ezio, and do not try to tell me that I will not. Even if you leave without me, I am going to follow you.” Silence, but only for a few moments, before Ezio howled with desperate laughter, clutching my shoulder so tightly that it almost hurt.

                “Gather your things then, amico mio; I’m leaving now.” I blinked.

                “You are not going to fight me?” He was still grinning, eyes bright.

                “What good will it do? You are determined, Leonardo, and I know you; you will not give up, and I must go. I will say that you will be staying in the villa when we arrive, but you will have company; Claudia and my mother, along with the architect and the servants. You’ll have plenty to speak to and plenty to occupy your busy mind.” And that was that, I supposed; I packed a small bag and together we left for Monteriggioni. I made it a point to let him lean on me whenever we walked rather than rode in the carriage I insisted upon.

* * *

 

                Ezio’s family villa really was a marvelous place, with arches and decorations and fortifications abound. The fighting pit directly in front of the villa where two men bashed at each other under a trainer’s watchful eye seemed a bit much, however, especially when each proved himself well-trained enough to yell greetings at Ezio and wave with their free arms without pausing for a moment.

                I stayed close to Ezio as he entered the house, him looking more at ease than I’d seen him in months. I supposed it only made sense, given that his family owned really the entire city, but it was welcome nonetheless. Perhaps he’d at least rest here before he stumbled off on whatever mad quest he had plotted.

                He led me deep into the home, to his uncle’s study where the man himself greeted him with a hard hug.

                “Nipote! And… Leonardo, is that you? Has my nephew dragged you along?” He truly was a friendly man; I’d always liked him well enough before, no matter my preference for his brother. On that particular day, however, the mere sight of him, when I remembered Ezio’s injuries, his pain, was enough to anger me. I strode from Ezio’s side, crowding Mario despite the fact that he was thick enough to make two of me. Ezio gaped at me, Mario’s expression remarkably similar.

                “No, he did _not_ drag me along! I _insisted_ upon it because I was _upset_.” Twin expressions of confusion replaced the gape on both of their faces. Had I ever had any doubts about their familial ties, that one moment would have wiped them all away.

                “Oh,” he said, finally. “Why, my old friend?”

                “ _Look_ at him! He is limping, and he cannot even move that finger you burned for the pain. And now you want to send him on this mad, foolish errand, like some favored pet eager to do your bidding! Why would I _not_ be upset?” More silence, more staring, from both of the Auditores.

                “I had… planned on having him heal first, and it will take time to orient the codex anyway. Which reminds me, Ezio, you do have the last page, correct?” He nodded, passing Mario the page. The elder Auditore proceeded to slide around me easily, hanging the page on an empty space on the wall already covered with the things. I gritted my teeth, glaring at him for ignoring me so easily.

                “Mario-,” I tried, and Ezio chuckled.

                “Leonardo, please do not worry so much over me. I promise I will let myself heal first; after all, I must be at my best to win the fight I will face, and I know that well. In fact, should you choose to do so, I would even have you be my doctor.” That settled me, some, hearing it from his own mouth, though I still wanted to say more of what I thought to Mario, however little he would appreciate my input.  I sighed.

                “Fine, fine; have you a room here, Ezio? I would like to make certain that you have left no cuts festering and not bandaged.” He grinned, clapping Mario once on the shoulder and beginning to make his way out.

                “It seems I am to be doctored now, uncle. I shall return as soon as I am deemed fit. Ah, before I go; are the others here already? The rest who helped me fight?” Mario nodded.

                “They are. Most have been asking after you, but I assured them that you were well.” Ezio’s lips quirked upwards, a faint smile but no less real for that, and I gently took him by the arm, leading him from the study before he took over and brought me to a small, meagerly furnished room. I supposed he had never had cause to decorate much. His mouth twitched when he saw my reaction, and he fell heavily onto the bed.

                “Mario, my mother, and Claudia have the nicer rooms; this one belonged to a servant, when the owners were wealthy enough to keep them. I thought it better, since I knew I would be staying here very little.” I nodded, gesturing for him to remove his cloak, which he did without protest, laying it gently, reverently, beside him. It had been so long since I’d seen him without it that his bare face was almost a shock, even more so than the simple, coarse things he wore underneath.

                “Those too,” I said, and he only rolled his eyes and did as bidden, apparently trying very hard to keep me happy. I couldn’t resist a faint smile at that; I knew of few others for whom he’d do anything he didn’t actually want to do, and I was honored to be among the number.

                In any case, he didn’t look as hurt as I’d feared; he had some rather spectacular bruising about his chest, dark, rounded marks I imagined had come from the pommel of a sword, and a particularly deep wound just above his right hip that was the likely cause of his difficulty walking, but otherwise he seemed remarkably unharmed. He held back a smirk at whatever expression I was wearing.

                “You see? I am not so badly hurt; did you think me so poor with a sword, Leonardo?” I shook my head, smiling pleasantly and knowing he would see it for the farce it was.

                “No, amico mio, I only thought and think you reckless with yourself and too stubborn to seek aid when you need it. As it stands, you’re lucky this has not become infected,” I said, gesturing at the aforementioned cut above his hip. He blinked down at it as if he had no idea it was there, shrugging.

                “I have had worse and been fine.” I glared, shaking my head and going downstairs to fetch the bag I’d left in the carriage only to find a man I didn’t recognize rifling through it. I raised an eyebrow. The man looked up and grinned, dropping it and standing to give me a bow. His hood obscured all but the bright flash of his violet eyes in shadow.  

                “May I ask why you are digging through my bag in the house of my friend?” I was almost certain that he grinned, though I couldn’t see as much clearly.

                “I found it lying unattended and thought perhaps it belonged to one of the Auditores. It was only out of kindness, I assure you; might I ask who you are, by the way? I do not think that we have met.” He passed me the bag with the quick, light hand of a thief, and I glanced inside for a moment to make sure that at least my bandages and medicines were still inside. Thankfully, at least, they were, though I expected the purse I had stowed there was gone.

                “I don’t think so either. I am Leonardo da Vinci, a friend of Ezio’s.” The odd man held out a hand for me to shake, and I did so, years of ingrained politeness being displayed prominently with every meeting I partook in, even when said meeting was with a thief.

                “Ah, I have heard about you; Ezio speaks fondly of you, though why he thought you suited to come here I will never know. I am La Volpe, by the way. It’s a pleasure.” La Volpe? I’d heard the name, of course, the legendary thief who could outrun anyone, steal any purse, outwit any guard, but I had thought it only a legend made to increase the reputation of the thieves. After all, Antonio had never mentioned him once when I spoke with him, and I’d thought he was the leader of the thieves’ guild.

                “I have heard of you as well, but only in whispers and rarely in facts.” He laughed, boisterous and pleasant.

                “That is my way, I’m afraid. Tell me, have you come here with Ezio? He was quite upset when last I saw him.” Upset? He’d seemed as he ever did when he came to my workshop; stubborn and proud and perhaps a little sad, though still grinning like a loon when he was made happy. I nodded, very slowly.

                “I have; he is in his rooms now. I wanted to tend to his injuries,” I said, and he nodded.

                “I will come along,” he said, and I, unwilling to argue with a man who was very likely also an assassin, agreed and led the way back to Ezio’s room. We found him reclining over the small bed, somehow managing to make the room look as comfortable as a king’s suite, and La Volpe laughed quietly, sidestepping me to stand at the man’s side. Ezio grinned up at him, reaching out and squeezing his arm.

                “Volpe! Mario told me that you and the others were here, but it is nice to see you for myself. You are well here?” The hooded man nodded, settling his hand over the one curled around his arm.

                “I am; your uncle is… a generous host.” Ezio raised an eyebrow.

                “Oh? You can give Leonardo his purse back then.” I was certain that La Volpe was grinning again as he gave one more quick bow, slid a very familiar purse from an inner pocket in his own cloak, and tossed it to me. I sighed; for once it would’ve been nice to have been proven wrong.

                “Always clever, my friend,” the thief said, voice light, and Ezio only laughed.

                “No, I only know you well. I’m sure you’ve taken plenty from my uncle since you’ve been here as well, but for that, I do not care as much.” Volpe settled beside him, shrugging, as I made my way over, sliding my medicines and bandages from the bag and carefully beginning my work. Ezio hissed at the touch of the salve I’d chosen on the deep wound, face tightening with pain, and I glanced up at him apologetically. I felt eyes burning into me, bright and unnerving; I’d never met someone with eyes like La Volpe’s before. I wondered if he’d been born with them, or if he’d changed the color somehow.

                “I am sorry, Ezio; perhaps it would not hurt so badly if you had tended it sooner.” The assassin’s laugh was a little stilted, and I felt him flinch as I made certain I’d worked all of the salve into the injury and the unbroken skin around it. When I found that I had, I bandaged it easily and stepped back for a moment.

                “Have I a clean bill of health now, maestro?” I rolled my eyes, digging through my bag to see if I had brought something for the bruises. I found that I hadn’t and thought of what I’d need to make something. Unlikely that this small city would have all of it, but surely I could check? Not tonight, I supposed, given the lateness of the hour, but tomorrow.

                “For now, I suppose. Try not to do anything too strenuous until that closes, amico mio; it is deep enough that I would worry if it started bleeding.” Amusement painted his features as he sat up, sinuous no matter his lack of intent. I watched Volpe’s eyes trace over him before they flickered back to me, and a sudden jealousy bit at me. I knew what such a look meant; plenty of men had looked at me that way on behalf of their wives. He was warning me off, telling me to keep away.

                “You are very talented indeed, Leonardo; I thought you were an artist, not a doctor.” Ezio grinned at me as he stood, moving to the small wardrobe in the corner of the room and pulling out a light, comfortable looking outfit which he immediately donned.

                “Leonardo is a genius, Volpe; surely I’ve said so before.”

                “There is a difference between hearing and seeing.” I didn’t comment, I suppose out of some bitter, childish revenge I didn’t deserve.

                “That is true enough. Come, I imagine Mario has something ready for the evening meal by now, don’t you? Leonardo, you should walk the grounds with me afterwards. There are many things around the house I think you would find interesting.” I offered him a thin smile, falling into step beside him when we left the room. La Volpe lurked behind us like his namesake, faceless and quick and conniving. I expected he’d have my purse again by the end of my stay here.

                Maria gave me a small smile when she saw me, and I jolted at the sight of her so pale and thin and wan; I’d known the past years had been as hard on her as on Ezio, that she’s fallen mute in her torment and only just begun to speak again (I still remember clearly the joy on Ezio’s face the day he told me as much), but I hadn’t seen her since Ezio spirited she and his sister from Florence. The sight of the vibrant woman I’d known in such awful pain… I knew well why Ezio hated the men who’d caused her to look so tormented.

                “Leonardo, it is lovely to see you again. I hope my son has not been too troublesome? I’m sure he has not stopped pestering you since the day I introduced him to you.” Her eyes fixated on his hand and I knew the reason; her husband had been in the same business, from what I could tell, and it had gotten him and two of her sons killed. I did not think she could stand to lose her last; truly, I did not think I could stand his loss either. I let a quiet laugh slip by, squeezed Ezio’s shoulder lightly.

                “Ah, he has brought excitement to my life if nothing else. It has been nice, having him around.” Maria actually laughed, sounding exactly like she once had and making me smile. Ezio, feared assassin, strode forward and took his mother tightly in his arms, pale, brown eyes closed, mouth taut in a ways that let me know he was desperate not to cry. La Volpe appeared beside me then, like a ghost, and somehow managed to lead me away as Claudia entered the room with Mario and the remains of the Auditore family began setting the massive table for so many people that I almost thought we must have been inviting the whole city.

                “I know that he is oblivious in this, Leonardo, but if you keep being so obvious, he will notice you looking at him eventually.” I flinched; denying it would do little good, I knew, especially not against this man whose eyes seemed to cut directly to my soul.

                “He is my friend and my friend only, La Volpe, you’ve no reason to worry over me. I will not touch him,” I said, no matter how much I wished I could say the opposite. His eyes widened under the hood, and then he laughed, raucous and honestly amused.

                “You think _I_ want him? What, for the look I gave you? I was only testing you, Leonardo, seeing your reaction. I’ve no desire for him, or for any, truly. I’m… in love with my work, shall I say? I have been doing it for long enough, after all. I did not envision you as the jealous type, by the way; it was an interesting surprise. Why do you say nothing to him?” I shook my head; had I actually fallen for such a silly ploy? I must have been losing my wits with age. 

                “He is not interested,” I said, and he laughed again, more quietly this time and with a faint shake of his head.

                “He is Ezio. Do not pretend as if you know who he is and isn’t interested in; you know him well, I will admit, but you are not like him and so there are things you cannot know of him. Have you ever heard the Assassin’s creed? The thing we all swear to when we take our mark?” he asked, showing me his hand, the ring of scar tissue around his finger. I still felt faintly ill that Ezio now wore such a brand.

                “I am no Assassin,” I said, and he nodded.

                “Indeed. The creed is no secret, however, though it is also not common knowledge. It is very simple, really, though changed some with time’s passage and the alteration of language. I have never inducted a member to the order myself, but I have attended enough inductions to know it well; the wisdom of our creed is revealed through these words. We work in the dark to serve the light. We are assassins. Nothing is true, everything is permitted. Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent. Hide in plain sight, be one with the crowd. Never compromise the Brotherhood. You, Leonardo, you serve the light in the light, with honesty and honor. You hide the parts of yourself that you fear would garner less approval; Ezio has long since stopped caring. Tell him what you feel and find yourself surprised, my friend.” I gazed at him curiously, and he swept his hood off, showed me his face for the first time.

                He look shockingly human and shockingly like the thief he was, his face narrow and hungry, lightly lined with age. Only his eyes retained their strange, alien quality beneath the light, bright like gemstones and full of seemingly ancient, endless knowledge.

                “How would you know that if I do not?” I asked him, and he shrugged.

                “A thief knows a thief, a killer knows a killer, and an Assassin knows an Assassin. We have led similar lives and I once fell in love as well. He speaks of you like I spoke of her, as if you hold the answer to every question he has ever asked.” Nostalgia lit in his eyes, a faint smile curled his lips. She must have been a very impressive woman.

                “I suppose it did not turn out well for you?” He chuckled.

                “She is many years dead, Leonardo. I had many happy times with her, and I have many happy times now; the only difference is that I was not La Volpe then.” I would have liked to learn more about this odd thief, honestly, but something told me I would be waiting a long time for more of that story. Even still, the curiosity in me begged me to try, and I was in no position to resist.

                “Oh? Then who were you?” He smiled with all his teeth, vulpine and wild, eyes glittering with mischief.

                “That is for you to discover, oh genius.” And then he was gone, presumably off to fetch the remainder of the evening’s guests. I settled at the table between Ezio and Claudia, across from Maria, and found myself being dragged from conversation to conversation as they fussed and argued amongst each other, Mario standing no chance in the fray. It was a loud, boisterous, pleasant night, better than many I’ve ever had and more memorable than any for what I planned to say afterwards, when Ezio was alone. My hands wavered for the first time in decades when I asked to chat with him in his room once the table was cleared. When he agreed, had I not had an in depth knowledge of anatomy, I would have sworn my heart could have fluttered from my chest.

* * *

    

                Ezio settled on his bed, not lounging, but certainly comfortable. My heart tightened again; he _trusted_ me. Why did he have to trust me, cause me to break that trust like this, in such an intimate way? I took in a deep breath as worry made itself known in the lines of his expression.

                “Leonardo, amico mio, are you alright? You have not been acting like yourself since you met La Volpe. He did not do anything or say anything to upset you, did he?” I tried to smile, but I knew well enough that it didn’t work, that my attempt only worried him more.

                “In… in a way, I suppose,” I said, and he stiffened where he sat, any comfort evaporating as though he’d never truly felt it at all.

                “That _bastard_. What did he tell you, Leonardo? I will deal with him for you, if you would like; he deals with thieves so often that I think he forgets what he should and should not say to people who are different.” And now I was damaging their likely very profitable friendship. Wonderful. I sighed, shaking my head, stepping nearer to him. He let me crowd him where he sat and didn’t even look the slightest bit threatened. He stared up at me with unshielded eyes, friendly and open and looking his age like he so rarely did. I settled my hands on his shoulders and knelt so my face would be level with his. My heart still pounded in my chest, my hands still wavered. I swallowed convulsively, desperately thinking of what to say, but for once of the first times, I could not think of a single word. I licked my lips, chest still tight, and he looked at me as though he were about to speak, and then, then I fell on him like an animal, kissing him roughly, with all I had. 

                He made a startled noise, body going tense under my hand, eyes blown wide. I thought to pull away, hating myself for doing what I’d done, for not even _saying_ anything first. And then I felt him relax, felt his mouth start to move against mine, practiced and easy and sweet. I moved away slowly, like in a dream, worried I’d only imagined it all. His eyes were lidded, lust swirling bright within them, lips curled into a slight smirk. If he had not been lounging before, he certainly was now.

                “Not that I am unhappy, Leonardo, but would you tell me what has brought this on?” I laughed nervously, not entirely able to look him in the face.

                “La Volpe suggested that you might be as… interested as I am. I did not think… I wanted to try, at least. I am sorry for the suddenness.” He almost cackled, far more friendly than I was expecting, eyes bright. 

                “That bastard,” he said, more amused now than angry.                                                                                

                “So I gathered,” I finally managed, clearing my throat. “Forgive me. I did not expect… I am not entirely sure what to say now.” He shrugged, working his shirt buttons open with deft, quick fingers.

                “You do not have to say anything, amico mio; you want me, yes? So take me.” The white shirt fluttered somewhere behind him, probably falling off the bed and onto the dusty floor. He turned a little, then, relaxing backwards, muscle moving like living art under his skin, and desire struck me like an arrow. His fingers teased the edge of his breeches, easy pleasure offered in his every gesture. It was a physical pain when I stepped away, and my body cursed my mind and my heart.

                I did _want,_ desperately so, and it was a want that had steeped and grown for years until it became something more akin to need. I should have been thrilled that he was offering, that I would be allowed to sate myself, but this was _Ezio,_ and I didn’t think I’d be able to stand looking at him, being near him, if I only had him once. I was not enough of a fool to imagine myself as one of the few he’d want to have again, one of the few he wanted more permanently.

                “Please, Ezio, do not get the wrong idea; I _do_ want you. More than I have ever wanted anyone, more than anything. It is only... I do not want your body only,” I said, almost certain now that I’d see that shock bloom on his face again, perhaps with the refusal and the anger I’d half-expected earlier. Instead, I learned again that I should not think so little of him because his smirk only softened to a smile while the sensual set to his body became more relaxed and natural.

                “Leonardo, you are my best friend. I like sex, I will admit that, and relationships generally do not come easily to me. Most can’t put up with me for so long, after all, or at least that is what Federico always used to tell me, and Claudia has recently picked up the habit. Ah, in any case, I seem to have drifted from my original point; I do not often sleep with those who I call only friend.” I cannot resist the drama and the romance of saying that my heart stopped then, especially not after all my talk of it pounding earlier. My breath wavered; I stepped nearer to him again. I would never, in my wildest dreams, have imagined this would ever truly happen.

                “Ah. What else… what else would you call me then, if not only friend?” he grinned, his movements turning purposeful, provocative, again, like flicking a switch.

                “I do not have the same way with words as you, Leonardo, but I think I would call you mio amore, if you did not mind me doing so.” I offered a smile myself, body and mind falling into that moment again as I made my way onto the bed, hovering above him, his hands light and warm upon my back.

                I kissed the curve of his jaw, letting the fingers of one of my hands trace eagerly over his chest, desperate to learn every dip and curve of his body. He was still grinning like a fool, breathless, arching against my touch as aptly as any courtesan, and I chuckled to myself; if nothing else, being with him would give me a world of self-confidence. My lips, seemingly of their own accord, trailed from his jaw to his neck, nipping lightly and licking the tiny hurt. His fingers twitched and his head fell to one side, his eyes closing, his full, scarred lips parting. I heard myself laugh against his skin and I felt his nails through my shirt and everything seemed to be running together, moving too fast.

                One of his hands slid very distractingly under my shirt, his legs spreading some so I could settle between them rather than propping myself above him with my free hand, and, very slowly, his other hand moved to my cheek, gently pushing me from his neck and drawing me to his lips again. He kissed me more lightly than I might’ve expected, hand moving from my cheek to my hair, and he really was very determinedly trying to get my shirt off of me, although the angle was surely helping him very little indeed.

                “Ezio,” I whispered against his lips, and I felt his amusement rumble through his chest more than I actually heard it.

                “Do not think I am letting you off that easily, Leonardo,” he said, half-teasing, half-chastising. “I showed you my heart, now you show me yours; what would you call me?” I thought, for a moment, wondering what to say, wondering what he wanted, but I was talking before I even thought of anything and I wondered where my mind had gone.

                “Caro mio, to start. But also strange, and frustrating, and moronic, and reckless, and childish, and wild, and beautiful,” I said, naming every word I could think of until my thoughts were of him, only him and nothing else. He actually laughed, voice slow and thick and warm, and continued struggling with my shirt.

                “Funny, I do not think I’ve ever had anyone insult me when I was in bed with them. Admittedly, it might actually be a little welcome; at least you are honest.” His laughter was as infectious as ever, and finally, I took pity on him, sitting up just enough to throw my own shirt somewhere (and oh but I would be upset later, when I found it covered in dirt and stained beyond belief).

                He settled hands on my bare back, now, and I, honestly a bit worried that I would open my mouth again and say something foolish, settled my mouth back on his neck, nipping and sucking a dark mark into his skin.

                His body arched into mine, every move he made done expertly and with purpose, easy and wonderful and much more than I could’ve imagined. I lifted my mouth, more pleased with myself than I should’ve been at the sight of the bruise I’d left behind. His eyes were lidded, lips parted and tanned cheeks a little flushed. His hands twitched at my back; I slid down his body, mindful of the bandaged hip, and mouthed at his chest, my hands soft at his sides.

                He jerked when my tongue traced one nipple, a choked-off sound falling from his mouth, body pressing more firmly towards me. I chuckled, nipping and sucking the one in my mouth while my fingers played with the other. He squirmed, completely and expectedly shameless, confident in himself and what he wanted and so very refreshing. His breeches scraped at my skin; I managed to get my free hand between our bodies to get them off of him, and he at least bothered helping a little, if not too terribly much.

                I could see him losing himself in the pleasure; it certainly hadn’t been too terribly long since he’d shared a bed with someone, I knew, or at least not as long as it had been since I had, but he likely treasured moments like this even still. After all, he lived a dangerous life, making moments of reprieve the most valuable times of all. My thoughts of breaking his trust fled; if I’d had any doubts that he wanted me before, they evaporated now at the feeling of him moving against me, hands in my hair, back bowing as if he could press my mouth to him harder.

                His eyes fell fully shut, eyelids fluttering. Even like this there was a strength to his face I had never seen in anyone else, though the harsh lines and angles of him had softened into something more pleasant, speaking more to _him_ than to his experiences. I’d never dreamt of being able to make him look that way, and I relished in it. His breeches hit the floor behind us with a heavy fabric sound. I barely noticed; my own thoughts were coming in quick, scrambled, incomprehensible bursts.

                My hand curled around his erection and he jolted, a low sound spilling from his lips, twisting beneath me. I lifted my mouth, one hand still working over one nipple, and breathed lightly over the other. The sudden coolness made him writhe, and with that, I abandoned my exploration of his chest. His eyes opened a little again, giving me a curious look, and I offered a faint smile.

                I slid down further, and he stiffened with the realization of what I was going to do, my mouth surrounding him suddenly, without thought, without hesitation. He groaned, loud and low, and I felt myself smile around him. His hands tightened in my hair where they’d followed me down, and I draped my arm across his hips, below the bandage, to keep him from thrusting too deeply into my mouth.

                It had been a while since I’d done this, of course, and I wasn’t entirely used to it any longer, but the idea of bringing him pleasure this way was one I greatly enjoyed. I sucked softly, tongue pressing against the underside, seeking the most sensitive places of him and teasing the ones I found mercilessly. I was sure I wasn’t the best he’d had this way; I was under no illusions that I could compete with the courtesans, or, perhaps even with some of the women he’d been with more regularly, but with the way he acted, his willingness to make noise and wriggle under my ministrations, I might’ve thought I was a master.

                My thoughts flashed back to earlier; I _had_ thought that he would certainly boost my self-confidence, and I knew now that that was truth. I don’t know how long I worked at him, hand moving over what I couldn’t fit in my mouth, sucking hard enough to make my cheeks hollow, for long enough that my jaw and my throat ached a little, but it was worth it for the pleasure his voice brought me. I wished I had a free hand to palm myself, and moaned quietly around him. The vibration made him shudder, and I did it again for the same response; it was nice to be with someone so unafraid to show their pleasure.

                After all, I knew this was illegal, knew it could get the both of us hanged, and I’d known that any other time I’d been with a man as well, so of course I understood the hesitation they showed me, but this… this was so much better, so much easier. I supposed it was because he knew that, if a guard did somehow see us like this, in his family’s estate in a city where they had no influence, he could dispatch them easily. To have such confidence must be nice, I noted, sucking more thoughtfully for a moment, until I felt him tug my hair harshly, pulling me off of him. I licked my lips, gazing up at him, and he shuddered again, breath coming in heavy pants.

                “Ezio?” I asked, my voice surely rougher, deeper than was usual, and another quiet noise slipped from him. My mouth twitched into a small smirk.

                “I do not want to finish yet, Leonardo. Give me more,” he murmured, legs spreading a little more, and I noticed, suddenly, a little trace of nervousness on his face, a crack in the bravado of what he’d asked me for. My brows furrowed.

                “Ezio, do you know what you are asking me for?” He laughed like he normally did, only the faintest traces of his worry jangling underneath.

                “I do not make bedding men a habit, amico mio, but I am not stupid. I want you, and I am curious. I told you that if you wanted me, you could take me, so take me. I trust you, Leonardo; I cannot say that to many people.” The more he spoke, the more surety filled his voice. His eyes were shades darker, swirling with his lust and desperation, and he licked his dry lips thoughtlessly. I didn’t think he’d ever stop surprising me, then, ever stop making me so ludicrously happy. I slid my own fingers into my mouth and he watched me with eagle eyes, fascination blatant in his expression. When, once my fingers were wet and slick, I let one drift to his entrance, slowly slide inside of him, his head fell back and his eyes closed.

                He gasped softly, hips twitching back against my hand, and I soothed him as best I could, pressing kisses where I could, stroking his skin where I could reach, until, at last, he started relaxing. I still moved my hand slowly, working him open with care I couldn’t recall needing to use in some time. That he’d never been touched this way before, all his experience with women aside, hit me suddenly, and honestly, I was perhaps more pleased than I should’ve been. I liked being the only one.

                The second finger went in without much trouble; he had control over his body the likes of which I’d never seen, and when he wanted to relax his muscles, no matter which ones they were, he was able to do so easily. He moved with my hand, seeking his own pleasure even as I gave him what I could, and I scrambled to get my own breeches off one-handed; I heard him chuckle at me distantly. I didn’t think I’d ever felt like such a fool in bed with someone before.

                As what was very likely childish revenge, I stretched the two fingers in him, and he choked, toes curling and back arching, eyes going wide and surprised. I finally managed to wriggle enough to get my breeches off, throwing them to land wherever Ezio’s had ended up, and he stared at me as if he’d never seen me before. Of course, like this, he hadn’t, where I’d seen him naked more than once as I dealt with his various injuries, or when he slept in my workshop and used my facilities to bathe. I chuckled, and with his shock, I managed to work the third finger in. The noise he made then was half-pained, the stretch likely too much for even him to compensate for immediately, so I doubled my efforts to soothe him.

                I rubbed one place within him purposefully, and the moan he let out at that was loud enough that even he looked surprised at himself. I smiled, and did it again. He moved against my hand more harshly, then, trying to force my fingers against the place more solidly, for more time, but I made certain that he got only what I was prepared to give. Besides, I was beginning to agree that it would be a shame if he came before he got the “more” he’d asked me for.

                Without real thought on my own part, I stroked myself languidly as I stretched him, watching rapturously the graceful way he moved. I itched for a pencil and a notebook; he’d be so very beautiful in my sketchbook this way, preserved forever. I wondered, for a moment, what I could do to make this easier for him. Had I any thought that this would happen before I asked him up here, I’d have brought oil with me. As it stood, it would be a bit difficult to go down to get some, and certainly suspicious to the other members of the house, but I had little up there that I could use and I certainly didn’t want to hurt him more than was necessary.

                I supposed I had little choice, and sighed, sliding my fingers out of him. Had he been anyone else, I’d have said he keened at that, and no matter who he was, he tried to keep me from drawing away.

                “Leonardo,” he growled, looking quite prepared to drag my hand back where he wanted it, and I grinned. The growl intensified when he saw me reaching for my breeches. My grin transformed effortlessly into a laugh.

                “I will not be gone long, Ezio, I only need oil. Where do you keep some here?” He blinked, very slowly, faintly confused, and it took him a bit to gather himself enough to answer. I managed to get the breeches on in that time, my erection uncomfortable in the confining fabric, but I supposed I could survive for what would come when I returned.

                “We have olive oil in the kitchen; it should be on one of the shelves, I do not know which.” I supposed I’d have to ask, then, as embarrassing and uncomfortable as that would be. I sighed, sliding on my shirt (already stained from his dirty floor, as I’d feared) and made my way very carefully downstairs, my lower body protesting the entirety of the way.

                I went into the kitchen as surreptitiously as I could, but there were obviously reasons why I was no assassin. La Volpe snuck up on me the moment my feet hit tile, hand light on my shoulder and face, displayed prominently with his hood down, flashing with amusement.

                “You see? I was right, was I not? Shall I have my thanks now or when all is said and done?” I felt myself flush, and he laughed. “Ah, later, I suppose. You appear in no state for giving thanks, I’m afraid, and I can understand your eagerness. There is oil on that shelf there; I’ll tell Mario I broke the jar disposed of the fragments.” I coughed out my thanks, honestly mortified, grabbed the jar he’d indicated, and made my way back up the stairs before I could be caught again. I supposed I only should’ve been thankful that it hadn’t been Claudia, or, god forbid, Maria. I expected I wouldn’t have survived either of those encounters, honestly.

                I found Ezio with his own fingers in him when I returned, eyes unfocused with pleasure, and shucked my clothes away again as quickly as I could imagine. I poured a bit of the oil into my hand and slicked myself, him licking his lips and gazing at me with warm eyes. The oil felt blessedly cool on my overheated skin, and I surely looked like an ass as I scrambled back between his legs, slid his fingers (damp; he must have sucked them himself, and I wished only I’d been here to see. Perhaps later I’d ask for a performance. He was a showman, if nothing else, and he liked the attention) out and away, and pressed myself in with one quick, smooth thrust.

                He let out a choked groan, body stretching around me, legs wrapping masterfully around my waist. I moaned myself, head falling against his heaving chest, and he wrapped his arms around me. It felt like heaven, warm and tight and comfortable, and I almost didn’t want to move for fear it would end. Ezio wouldn’t stand for that, however; I felt him twitching and squirming, hips working and trying to spur me into action, and I had to laugh again.

                “So impatient,” I whispered, almost an endearment, and he snorted, jerking against me harder until I didn’t have much of a choice but to move how he wished me to move. It felt oddly natural, moving in him; I tried to be slow, to be gentle, but, again, he wasn’t having it. He moved hard, lithe, strong body pressing against mine, hips moving with mine as I thrust into him, until the both of us were lost in the pleasure of it. I curled a hand around him, and he moaned gratefully, eyes closing again, anf from there it was over far too quickly.

                He came with a few hard strokes of my hand, body tightening around me, and with that, I couldn’t last much longer either. I took him by his uninjured hip, carefully keeping my hand off the other, and pressed into him more roughly than I normally liked. Where at first I’d been going for his prostate, now I avoided it, knowing the stimulation now would probably hurt more than anything.

                His smile was lazy and sated, and he still moved with me, if not as… amorously as before, ankles still locked behind my back. The placid way in which he let me move him, let me take him… I enjoyed it more than I should have, and my hand left bruises on the hip I held. I felt a little guilty over it later, but he’d only chuckled, shaking his head and saying it didn’t even hurt, that he didn’t mind, that he’d have women leave harsher marks on him before. I wasn’t sure, when he told me that, whether to feel calmed or jealous and settled on an odd mixture that would, over time, become very familiar to me indeed.

                In any case, I came quickly from there as well, and I was far too loud when I did; I expected the majority of the household knew what we were doing now, even if they’d been unaware before. That only made Ezio laugh as well as I slid out of him and collapsed beside him. I felt sticky and faintly uncomfortable, but more than that, I was tired. Ezio wrapped easy arms around me and held me close, and I did the same to him. The both of us fell asleep quickly, myself feeling happier than I could ever recall.

* * *

 

                I wasn’t happy when, the next day, I learned what Ezio’s plan was. I tried to fight him over it, of course, but for the first time he would not be swayed no matter how I argued with him. I stared at the firmness of his face helplessly, hands clenched on the edge of the table.

                “Ezio, I am… I am worried and I am afraid for you. I do not think that… if you died…,” I tried, injecting as much sadness and desperation into my voice as I could manage as a last resort. He looked pained, but even still he shook his head.

                “I know that, Leonardo, and I am sorry, but I cannot do this for you. Ask me for anything else and I will do it, but I swore that everyone involved in the death of my father and my brothers would die. He is the last, and I will not let him live.” I flinched.

                “I’ve heard he is moving to become the pope.”

                “Let him. I am not leaving today, Leonardo, you know that; the codex must be oriented, and I must rest and train. There is time to plan for that, and for anything else.” I wanted to argue more, but couldn’t bring myself to do it. I knew that he needed to do this, needed this one last mission, for closure, to end his own suffering. I could not fault him for that however I might’ve wanted to do so. I suppose I loved him too much for it. I swallowed stiffly, and finally nodded. 

                “Alright. You are a fool, but I will not argue with you about this, at least. Come; your sheets are filthy, and I do not think anyone in this house will relish in finding them that way, not to mention the fact that we both need a bath as well.” He laughed, and together we stood from his kitchen table and made our way back to his room.

                For now, at least, he and I could be happy. I would not, could not, spend these last days with him dreading what would happen if the mission went wrong and the man he called the Spaniard killed him instead. I would enjoy this time I had with him; I wouldn’t allow myself to do anything else. After all, it could be my last, and if he died, I refused to sit around and feel bitter over not bringing him happiness in his last days, over squandering them by squabbling. In this, if nothing else, I would have no regrets.


End file.
